


The Distance

by orphan_account



Series: #cakefucker69 [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cake, Crack, Declarations Of Love, Hurt, M/M, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-06
Updated: 2011-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-24 08:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/261294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like many men before him, Mycroft Holmes has loved and been loved in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Distance

Like many men before him, Mycroft Holmes has loved and been loved in return. He has loved deeply with all of his being and lost that love prematurely— but Mycroft knew that he was the only one to blame for the consequences of his engagements. If one were simply looking at the outcome it would be a tale of woe and heartbreak. Mycroft however, looks back fondly and remembers the years he spent with his love and beams with joy and thinks perhaps if he is lucky, one day that same joy will return to him.

Every childhood birthday, summer and holiday was spent with him. Even after Mycroft was sent off to school at a young age he followed. They spent late nights together, usually with Mycroft going on about his future, how he eventually wanted to find a position that would suit him in the government, how Mummy constantly nagged him about finding a _nice woman_ to settle with and have a family. Only Mycroft knew that he didn’t want that for himself. Mycroft had no qualms about settling down, oh no, that wasn’t it, only the small detail that he didn’t wish to settle down with a woman and have a family. And when Mycroft expressed this to his dearest friend, he nodded, smiled and helped him gain the confidence to come out to his mother. That was one of the aspects Mycroft thought that his friend had excelled in: listening, really listening. It was true that most listened to Mycroft because he was a Holmes and quite frankly towered over most of his peers but no one really heard what he was really trying to say. At the age of twenty-three Mycroft realised that he was in love. Love, funny thing it is, he felt so _human_ , so normal that it ached.

His name was Cake.

There were days when they had nothing on where Mycroft and Cake would lay on Mycroft’s bed and talk or laugh or wrestle or sit there in companionable silence. Those were some of his fondest memories of his relationship with Cake before they actually entered a relationship. There were days that their faces would get so close to one another that it was all Mycroft could do not to lean forward just a bit and close the gap. It was only after Mycroft’s first experience with drunken declarations that Cake found out Mycroft was in love with him. After trying to run away, blaming it on the alcohol it was very surprising to Mycroft when they ended up in Mycroft’s bed again.

The fact of the matter was the Cake was adored by everyone, which was of no surprise to Mycroft. Cake had always been well liked, he was quite attractive, and his personality could get him anywhere and anyone he wanted. Cake had layers though, he was not this one dimensional being that people perceived. Some would take and take from Cake and never give in return. Mycroft refused to be like the others—he was not although, what he considered a “catch.”

Somehow through all of the years they had spent in each other’s company, through periods of elation and depression Cake had chosen Mycroft. Funnily enough, being in a relationship was really just the same as the close knit friendship that had developed between the two since adolescence. When Mycroft first informed Mummy of his new relationship with an old friend, she was unsurprised. Mummy always had an eye for things, much like himself and his younger brother, Sherlock.

Even after Mycroft took up a government job, his relationship with Cake flourished—there was not a day after their first drunken night together that they did not wake up next to each other. Mycroft was usually the first to wake each morning and he’d just lay there and smile knowing that he was loved. His heart no longer ached because it loved but sang. The only ache he could imagine was losing cake. There had been many suitors over the years who attempted to persuade Cake right under Mycroft’s nose—but faithful Cake was, always. Some would look at the timeframe from when they entered into a romantic relationship and say that their relationship moved quickly. But in reality their relationship had been building, brick by brick since youth.

The summer after Mycroft began his government position, they began renting a country home where they would spend the hot mid-year days. In the evenings they would lie out on a quilt in the grass and do as they had back in uni. Talk, laugh, wrestle, or just stare into each other’s eyes in silence. They were more than content with that. They would lie in the grass until they both were drifting off to sleep in each other’s arms and the nightly breeze rolled over them.

Their life together, Mycroft thought, was bliss. This life, this adventure was certainly more than Mycroft ever hoped life would be. There were many times earlier in his life that he truly began to believe that he was destined for unhappiness. Cake taught him that it was not true. It wasn’t that Cake brought him happiness, although that was certainly also true, but it was that Cake helped him find the confidence within himself to be happy.

Ten years. They spent ten wonderful years’ together, years that Mycroft would not trade for anything in the world. So why, would one ask could something so perfect crumble? Simply enough, things did not “crumble”, no, that would imply that it was a slow regression that led to the end of their relationship. No, instead the events of one night in particular, one regretful night that caused the dramatic end.

Like most Thursdays, Mycroft stopped by Sherlock’s flat to check up on his recovery. He had been clean for a few weeks after a relapse but for the most part, Sherlock was coping well without the cocaine. Every Thursday Mycroft would bring along a small case, something to keep Sherlock preoccupied so that boredom wouldn’t force his brother to jump back into the needle. Each week Sherlock would demand Mycroft to leave and refused the case, but because Mycroft cared and because he was wired to worry he never wavered in his weekly schedule.

That does not mean that Sherlock ever got used to the idea of Mycroft showing up—no in fact it made him want to work all the more harder to make him leave.

“Mycroft, getting tubbier, are we?”

Mycroft peered down towards his belt buckle. He had never been svelte man, nothing like his brother was, but he had gotten over being uncomfortable in his own skin years ago, hadn’t he? Mycroft left his brother’s flat feeling uneasy. As he passed though the doorway he looked over in the mirror hanging on the wall. Perhaps he had been getting bigger, but that was nothing to be ashamed of, right? Mycroft waltzed back into the black vehicle that took him almost anywhere. Very official, he thought, but nothing too intimidating.

“To the nearest pub” Mycroft insisted towards the driver. He didn’t allow himself _this_ sort of indulgence very often. It was so ordinary, something that everyone else did, but certainly not Mycroft Holmes. He could allow himself this time. _Stressful day, just need to unwind before I get home_.

This here is where Mycroft goes wrong. Because, you see, this is where Mycroft meets a slender man, not very attractive but very clever. It was as though he had a way with words that could pull Mycroft in. He’ll never forget.

His name was Diet.

Mycroft somehow spent four hours in the pub that night, spending most of that time talking to Diet, flirting with Diet, oh god, getting off with Diet. Mycroft could blame the alcohol, any one could, but he was not going to blame his own actions on a few drinks just as he had tried a decade before when he first professed his love for Cake.

 _Oh, Cake_.

Mycroft was many things, but a liar was not one of them. Cake stayed up waiting for Mycroft that night until he rolled in at one a.m. It had to be done then and there, there was no way that Mycroft could knowingly sleep in the same bed with Cake without him knowing the truth.

And that was the end. There were heartfelt apologies from Mycroft, but he was not going to beg Cake to stay when he had wronged and hurt him so profoundly. Cake packed his bags, his tools, his life and decided that he was to stay with family—he figured he could live with his sister for the time being and perhaps work at the family bakery. It would be nothing like the life he and Mycroft shared, but maybe that’s just what he needed.  

“If you love me,” Cake began as he approached the door for the last time, “and I know you do, I can see it in your eyes every day.” His eyes welled with tears, “Please do not try to find me.” Cake turned away from Mycroft, wiping away the tears that had fallen down his face and departed from their home for the last time. 

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the song 'The Distance' by Cake.
> 
>  
> 
> I just really love cake, folks.  
> #cakefucker69


End file.
